Page 52 of The Duke and the Scarred Bride

Her sobs became shorter, and each sound was like a dagger to his chest.

“Wife,” he called, knocking softly.

Her sobs ceased immediately, the room falling so silent that he thought he might have imagined the sound.

“Louisa,” he called again, his voice rising an octave as he knocked harder on the door. “Are you all right?”

After several minutes of knocking and calling her name, it became quite clear that she did not wish to speak to him, and no matter how beastly he was rumoured to be, he would never force her to do anything she did not wish to do.

He stepped away from the door and headed down the stairs. As soon as he was outside, he asked that his horse be saddled, ignoring the incredulous look the stable hand gave him. Percival could hardly blame him, as no man in his right mind would decide to take a leisurely ride on such a cold night.

It was either that, or he would throw himself in the icy waters of the lake again, in the hope of calming his body and mind. But with how frequently he swam in the cold lake, he ran the risk of catching his death.

That left him with two options: either surrender to the desire he felt for his wife or find other ways to bring his urges under control. Since the first option was not possible, he was stuck with the second option—riding in the middle of the night long enough to tire himself and clear his head.

Soon, his horse was saddled and ready, and he mounted it and took off, letting Hades have his head when they turned onto the open road. The horse seemed to enjoy it after being cooped up inside for so long. After some time, Percival regained control of the horse as it began to slow down, obviously growing tired.

He nudged the horse into a brisk walk when he noticed they had somehow ridden into Mayfair. He stopped in front of Gillingham Manor and handed the reins to the stable hand. He bounded up the stairs and lifted the heavy knocker on the door, before rapping a few times.

The door was opened by the aged butler, who looked slightly annoyed to be roused from his sleep. When he noted who was standing before him, his annoyed expression turned into the blank mask that butlers were known for.

“Good evening, Your Grace. His Lordship is in the drawing room, I believe,” the butler said before Percival could ask for his half-brother’s whereabouts.

“Thank you,” Percival replied, handing him his coat and marching purposefully into the house in search of Eli.

He found him, eventually, sitting cross-legged in the drawing room and nursing a glass of whiskey. A look of surprise flashed in his eyes when he saw him.

“Quite surprising to see you here, Your Grace. What brings you to Mayfair? Let me be the first to say it—you look like hell,” Eli drawled.

Percival flashed him a warning look, but instead of being chastised, Eli chuckled in amusement.

“If I look like hell, you look like a drunk. You seem to have liquor with you whenever I see you,” Percival noted, taking a seat opposite him and crossing his legs, making himself at home.

“You might be the one with an affinity for spirits, since you always find me drinking,” Eli shot back. He drained his glass and then headed to his liquor cabinet. He staggered as he moved showing he had deeply imbibed but was somehow was still able to move.

He held out an empty glass to Percival.

“Could I tempt you?”

“No, thank you,” Percival muttered, waving his hand dismissively. “I need my wits about me.”

“Suit yourself,” Eli said, refilling his glassing and heading back to the sofa. “Tell me, Percy, you do not seem to be enjoying your honeymoon. Does marriage not agree with you, after all?”

“There is nothing wrong with my marriage, just my wife.”

“I would argue that they are one and the same, but do tell,” Eli urged, leaning forward while staring at Percival with rapt attention. “What have she done?”

“She has sequestered herself in her room, denying me entrance, refusing to talk to me…” Percival trailed off in frustration.

“If I remember correctly,” Eli spoke up after a pause, “you told me that your marriage was one of convenience and that you wished to live separate lives. She is doing exactly that—living separately from you.” He splashed some brandy into his glass. “I am sorry, Percy, but I do not see the problem here.”

“Yes, I did agree to living separate lives, but she was the one who demanded that we share meals and attend social events. She asked for companionship. I was doing my best to grant that request when she decided she didn’t want it any longer. She wanted what we had at the beginning of our marriage. She cannot just change everything as she likes. It does not just affect her, but me as well,” Percival grunted, breathing deeply to calm himself.

“Percy,” Eli began. “It seems to me that you have fallen in love with your wife.”

“Nonsense,” Percy snorted. “I would hardly fall prey to such a useless emotion. I do care about her, but it is nothing like the foolish emotion that Byron and his cronies whine about all night long.”

“Well,” Eli drawled, a mischievous smile playing on his lips, “while it is a well-kept secret that women can be… mysterious in their own way, I do not think the change in her behaviour happened without any reason. Perhaps you will tell me what happened?”

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